Dance Me to the End of Love
by LorahRose
Summary: Arthur, with a little help from Eames, teaches Ariadne how to dance.  Arthur/Ariadne; het; fluff.  Originally written for the Inception Kink Meme on Livejournal


The mark sat at the head of the high table; the esteemed guest of honor. They hadn't had much time to prepare for the job, but Ariadne hoped she knew enough. The woman was some CEO's wife, who may or may not know where he was building his next munitions plant, and may or may not be preparing to divorce him for the vice president who'd hired them. She also had a history of less-than-spectacular birthday parties. Ariadne watched her smile shyly and touch the red rose in her hair, wondering if she'd remember this as one of her happier dreams. Somewhere upstairs, there was a private bedroom where Cobb was -

The music clattered to a halt as the mark shot a sour glare at the band. She turned away, pressing her hand to her forehead. The conversation stopped, and Ariadne could feel each pair of eyes in the room turn to her.

"What's the matter, darling?" A red-haired man, whom some would recognize as the Vice President of Arden Bioscience, and Ariadne knew to be Eames in disguise, gently took the woman's hand in his.

"I'm not - I'm not having fun. I want to go home."

"Oh, sweetheart. And walk out of your own birthday party?" He smiled, full of tender reassurance, but it only seemed to annoy her further. "But all of our friends are here to wish you - "

"These aren't - they're not really our friends..." Her face screwed up. "I don't have any friends. I just have a - a bunch of phonies - liars - they just want to talk about me - "

Ariadne looked at her tablemate. "I told you a party was a bad idea."

Saito shrugged. "Mr. Cobb said it was going to be a simple job."

"That's where we went wrong. It's never simple."

"Perhaps." Saito looked over towards the band, and the bass player - whom Ariadne suddenly recognized as Yusuf - fumbled on his strings before finding a slow, winding tempo. Hesitantly, the other musicians joined in. With the silence broken, it was slightly easier to breathe - but only slightly. Saito stood up. "We can still finish if we work quickly. Meet me on the terrace in three minutes, and we will help Mr. Cobb."

Ariadne didn't have time to nod before Saito disappeared, forcing his way out between two waiters. They stared at him, affronted by his rudeness, and back at her. She tried not to return their glares - or to look at Yusuf or Eames. It occured to her that she didn't know where Arthur was. Hadn't he been sitting next to her a minute ago? She fought the temptation to look around, keeping her gaze on the linen napkin in her lap.

It was only because she was listening closely that Ariadne heard the mark murmur, "I know this song."

"Of course you do, precious. Don't you remember?" said Eames, not missing a beat.

The mark paused, looking as if whatever memory kind of memory it was, it had distracted her from her headache a little. "You and I. In the airport hotel. Some birthday that was."

"Well, I had to make every second count, didn't I? Can't afford to be wasting time at a party, when we could be..." Eames leaned in to whisper something in her ear. The mark smiled, and Ariadne let her breath go as she felt the music swelling, the room growing brighter.

"We're always hiding from him. I could never..."

"No, no, sweetheart. Angela," he said, taking her hand in his as they stood up. "We'll be together. We won't hide anymore - we'll show them. Show them, Angela. Won't you?"

Hesitantly, but with her arm resting in his and her head held up, Angela stepped off the dais, and on to the marble floor.

Ariadne wasn't quite sure, but she thought the mark's dress had changed color from beige to deep sapphire blue. Slowly, Eames gathered her in his arms, lifting them, and they began to dance. For a split second, Ariadne caught her eye, and felt a bit of what everyone in the room felt - what Angela must have felt: she was beautiful.

The repirive lasted only as long as it took for her to exhale. Ariadne felt a hand on her bare shoulder. She whipped her head around, but was relieved to see Arthur. "Where have you - ?"

"I had a feeling we were about to have some party crashers. Apparently, Mr. Arden doesn't like to see his wife having too good of a time, dreaming or awake." He looked at her. "It should be taken care of. We've got a few seconds on the clock - about three minutes here."

"And Cobb?"

"I don't know. We'll find out in three minutes."

On the other side of the floor, Eames held Angela in a low dip. From her upside-down position, she shot another look at Ariande.

"She's still suspicious. Here." Arthur offered his arm, as if he were about to escort Ariadne somewhere.

"Where are we going?"

"To... dance?" said Arthur, confused that she hadn't figured out something so apparently obvious.

"What? No - I can hardly even breathe in this dress - " Ariande looked down. Her dress, which had been skintight black satin a moment ago, was now lavender chiffon.

"I think you had better dance with me." He settled his hand on her hip, and guided hers around to his shoulder. "Don't be nervous. Just - do the opposite of what I do." Arthur began to sway, rocking Ariadne around in a small circle, very close to her. Her head was level with his shoulder, and she thought she could smell the rose in his buttonhole, and something else, a watery, clean smell...

"We're not in a nightclub," he said, straightening his back and hers along with it. "Staying small is fine. But don't lean forward like that." Arthur turned Ariadne to the side, narrowly avoiding another woman in a pink dress.

Ariadne nodded, fixing her gaze on the knot of Arthur's tie. Had it been lavender, too? If she didn't stop changing things, she was going to alert the mark to their presence - and they were so close, too. She didn't know why the temptation to do so was so strong, now of all time. But she could feel the warmth of Arthur's arm around her, and she focused on that.

"This is a nice song," she said, for the sake of saying something. "I remember it from... I don't know, but I know the words." The lyrics floated through her head_: Dance me to our wedding vows; dance me on and on. Dance me very tenderly; dance me very long._ She looked back at Arthur, who was making a face. "What's the matter?"

"That band doesn't have a vocalist. Ariadne - " He stopped moving. "What's going on?

_We're both of us beneath our love; we're both of us above._

"You're - I'm - "

Through the wide windows of the hall, Ariadne could see that it was no longer night. It was midday and the sun was in full blaze, illuminating the sea of marble and crystal around them. Arthur's grip on her hand slacked as the ballroom began to blur into white. The music was fading. _Dance me to the end of -_

Ariadne felt her head jerk forward. Her lavender dress was now a nurse's scrubs, and a stethoscope hung around her neck instead of a diamond necklace. Everyone else was dressed similarly - the sheen of their satin tailcoats was fading from her memory, even though she felt like she could still see the halo of color. Yusuf was on the floor, already rolling the tubing of the PASIV Device away. Angela Arden laid before them in a hospital bed, resting before her afternoon ocular surgery. Ariadne looked from Yusuf and Saito, to Arthur and Eames, and finally to Cobb.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well," said Cobb, flexing his arms behind his head, "Wasn't as easy as I thought it'd be, but we did it."

"It was really an Oscar perfomance by Eames, though. 'Oh, Angela, we won't hide anymore! Come with me, Angela!' And into the big musical finale." She laughed, and so did Arthur. Now that it was all over, it was easy to laugh about. "Very _Doctor Zhivago_. I liked it, though. It was - interesting. It's not often that dreams really have resolutions like that; like stories." She trailed off. "It'd be nice if they did, I guess, although it might make our jobs harder."

Arthur nodded, leaning back in his desk chair. He paused, looking down at the bottle of beer they'd bought as small gesture of celebration. "It almost didn't end there. If you remember."

Ariadne remembered. "Yeah, that. I think I was just - I was just getting caught up in the drama of it - Eames, he's really good at - "

"'Getting caught up in the drama of it.' You mean you're personally invested in Angela Arden's emotional wish-fulfillment?"

"You say it like that, and it sounds so stupid," said Ariadne. "She was happy. Didn't you see her? It was like the whole room lit up." She paused, remembering. "Everyone was looking at her, but it finally didn't matter. Because... she knew..."

Arthur said nothing, just leaned forward and waited for her to finish. She didn't.

"Where'd you learn to dance like that?"

"Like what?"

"You know - how we danced in the dream."

"There was nothing special about that," said Arthur, with a shrug. "People just used to know how to dance."

"Right, back when all men wore three-piece suits." They shared a small laugh. She paused again (as she found she often did when she talked to Arthur). "Show me?"

"What?" He barely raised his eyebrows at her. "Why?"

"If it's a thing that people 'just used to know,' it's probably a valuable skill. I've been meaning to start lobbying for more parties and fewer war zones on the job, anyway."

"I could support that," said Arthur. "All right. Let's try it." He cleared his throat as he pushed aside their chairs and got into position. Ariadne moved in to take his arm again, tilting her head at what she hoped was an elegant angle.

Arthur shook his head. "First of all, if you want to dance _with_ me, and not just in front of me, you're going to have to get closer."

"Like this?" Ariadne slightly tightened her grip on Arthur's shoulder, drawing in circle of their arms.

"No. Like this." He pulled her forward to face him squarely, close enough their that their hips were in full contact. "Posture is the hard part. Once we have that down, the steps are easy."

Ariadne laughed nervously, suddenly embarrased to make eye contact with Arthur now that their faces were less than five inches apart. "How is just - just istanding/i close to each other harder than actually dancing?"

"Because - " Arthur stepped forward, causing Ariadne to step back. She felt her body rise with his as he pulled her through the circle of steps, and then they did it again. " - If you can maintain your posture, no one ever has to teach you a single step. You'll be able to feel what your lead wants you to do." He lifted his hand, and Ariadne turned quickly - a little too quickly, as her ankles wobbled, and she fell into Arthur's arm instead of landing neatly beside him.

"It's a little harder than it looks," he admitted.

"Just a little," she said, smirking back. They stepped apart, and Ariadne paused to adjust her scarf. She could smell Arthur's aftershave - watery, like the smell of ozone after a rainstorm - and realized it was on her, now.

"'Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin... Dance me through the panic, 'til I'm gathered safely in...'" Ariadne looked up and noticed Eames, who presumably had been sitting there the whole time. He sang in a silly, exaggerated baritone as he sat, his gaze split between observing them and inspecting his nails. "What? Go on; go on. I'm trying to do you a favor here. 'Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove; oh, dance me... to the end of love.'"

Arthur cleared his throat and looked squarely at him. "Eames."

"I'm providing ambiance. I can't imagine it's much fun dancing without music. But you were doing a lovely job, sweetness; especially considering you're dancing with some clumsy beanpole who insists on shoving you around like a - "

"He's not clumsy," said Ariadne, "and he wasn't shoving me - "

"Oh, you have no idea, darling. Come here. The waltz - " Eames held Ariadne in position, prompting her to lift her head. " - is sheer grace; you must be light as a feather. No, no; not so low - you only have to flex your knees, not grid into the floor. I mean, If you'd ilike/i me to show you how they dance in the seedy bars of Buenos Aires, we can do that too - "

_"Eames."_

" - I said, we can do that, but not now. I'm teaching her how to _waltz."_ He slowly wound their bodies back, before moving into the step she had done with Arthur. "'Let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone,'" Eames hummed to himself, "'Let me see you moving like they do in Bablyon...'"

"Are you really going to sing the whole time?" Ariadne asked.

"Nothing stopping you from joining in. Here, let's actually go somewhere, shall we? 'Oh, show me slowly what I only know the limits of -'" Singing louder, like a fanfare, he moved her forward, and suddenly Ariadne was clearing the floor, stepping side to side in wide arcs. When Eames swept his arm forward with the step, she mirrored him, although admittedly not as flamboyantly as he did. "Oh, very nice. You're picking this up quickly."

"'Dance me... to the end of love," she finished, quietly, but in tune.

"See, you know how to do it!" Eames laughed, twirling her around into a finishing pose. "She knows how to do it," he said to Arthur. "She just needs a proper lead."

Still smiling, she stepped towards Arthur once Eames had turned away to fiddle with something on the computer. "You were a proper lead." She paused to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's... it's a lot of fun. Much more of a... a spontaneous means of creative expression than the kind I'm used to."

"I would think."

"I mean, I know a little about dance, and of course it's a serious artform with - hundreds, thousands of different facets; I don't mean to say that it's in any way technically limited - " Ariadne was aware that she was rambling now, but Arthur seemed to be listening. "But it's about what you feel. How the person you're dancing with makes you feel."

"And how does dancing with Eames make you feel?"

"Dramatic. Silly," she admitted. "But I could use some of that, sometimes."

"And when we were dancing?" he said, reaching for her hand again. Ariadne gave it to him, watching the arc they made together in the air.

"I felt..." She looked at him, squarely in the eyes, and breathed deeply the smell of clean water. "I can't say. I think that's why we have to dance it for a little longer."

A familiar bass line came through the computer's speakers. Ariadne felt Arthur coming towards her, and they moved together. For one breath, they were aware of each other; aware of where each part of their bodies ended and where they came together. They rose and fell, feeling out the high and the low of the music. "I feel - " Ariadne whispered, "I feel -"

"What the - ?" A slam of the door jolted them from their trance. Cobb stood in doorframe, looking dumbfounded. "Well. Sorry to interrupt Sunday afternoon tea, but I was just coming to tell you we're headed to Vegas in three days." He turned around, but paused to shout over his shoulder. "And I'm apparently going to have to ask you to build the biggest, baddest war zone we've ever worked in, because if ithis/i is what happens when we go with parties, it's not happening. Again."


End file.
